


A Pair of Mirrors Reflecting

by glasscamellias



Category: MOTHER: Cognitive Dissonance
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Other, POV Alternating, Painful Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Mutilation, Telepathic Bond, Touch-Starved, Vomiting, Xeno, endgame spoilers, sex by proxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16271024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasscamellias/pseuds/glasscamellias
Summary: It had been so long since anyone had touched Niiue, and he was lonelier still with all of his friends launched into time, not knowing when they'd return. All he wanted was a quick tryst without strings attached. It was fine, he could blow off some steam and get back on track.(It wasn't fine for Giegue, learning too late that their mental bond, which had gone silent when they were so far apart, could be reawakened with a sufficiently intense feeling, letting him feel everything that was happening to his other half.He didn't want this.)





	A Pair of Mirrors Reflecting

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind those tags.

It was messed up, getting horny when there was a whole universe to save. Shouldn't the stress of it shut down his libido? How was he supposed to orchestrate everyone's movements when he couldn't stop thinking about configurations of their bodies against his? Horniness and chessmastering didn’t go together at all.

To most of them, Niiue was the Captain or the Commander, and he couldn't betray that trust, however faked. Anyone in the military who paid even the tiniest bit of attention knew about lowbies getting preyed on by the highest up, about blooming careers being snuffed out because someone panicked and tried to say no. No amount of longing and hunger was worth doing that to someone, and he needed to find a potential partner who could say no to him. (The idea of anyone saying yes was less likely, but one step at a time, right?)

When the group vanished into the Phase Distorter, tossed off into time, it was terrible to think of it as an opportunity. But wasn't it? Nothing he could really do would bring them back any faster, so why not remove one distraction, so he'd be focused on their return?

...He didn’t know who to turn to for this. His list of people that he didn't have power imbalances over was pretty sparse. Since his... arrival, he hadn't gotten much opportunity to interact people who weren't also soldiers, and he’d barely made planetfall. Where was he supposed to go? Not that many brothels in this part of the galaxy, as far as he knew.

But there was the Sigismundo. With them being so far out of the loop, they counted as honorable discharges, right? He wasn't their superior. He was only a guy who wanted to trade some supplies, like the others had done when they had first found the drifting ship. And if someone said yes, it could be more than that.

It was a risky thing to do, though. There were so few gieegs in this part of space that, if anyone asked around, one of Giegue's underlings might track him down, in case Gie was in the mood to tie up loose ends. He needed to make himself less recognizable, but his efforts added a new level of awkward.

Luckily Malik was taking his old-guy nap in one of the hyberpods, but that meant only one less witness. He had the feeling Elmadan and Boson were judging him as he stripped down in the corner. (The pair of Mr. Saturns didn't seem to care, but as long as he was wearing something on his head, he doubted they would consider him nude.) Boson didn't bother turning away, but Elmadan was holding his head in his tentacles, eyestalks bowed. "Why exactly are you getting naked?" he asked, his voice wobbling, flushed a deeper purple.

"'Cause the way I dress is super distinctive, and I can't go wandering around the galaxy not expecting people to recognize me? And what do you care, most mooks run around naked anyway. So do gieegs. If anything, you’re the weird one for gooping around in a suit." He tied his hair up and tucked it underneath his hat, the only thing he was going to keep on. There wasn't much he could do about his tail, but since the first thing people used to describe him was the colorful clothes, he had done pretty well at making himself look like a regular gieeg. Hopefully.

The excuse sounded flimsy even to him, and Boson laughed in a trill of synths. "Sure thing, dawg, keep tellin' yourself that. Nothin’ like a naked shopping trip, right?" Clearly his insistence that he was going for supplies wasn't convincing, though half true. Maybe he would get turned down and it would be that and nothing more.

He could see a few of them already, heads turned up to the sky as he brought the ship into position and went down. The metal floor was freezing underneath his bare feet as he explored the outside, waving to the Starmen milling around, curious about this new arrival. He had made up his mind before going down: probably not a plain gray Starman, someone who would have been low-ranking back in the day, who might see a gieeg and try to defer to him. Not that he’d have much variety to choose from—there wasn't anyone too high up here, or someone would have bothered retrieving them years ago. He could see a gold in the distance, staring off at a comet, and he was pretty sure that was about as high-level as Starmen got on this ship.

Niiue ducked inside, scanning the room and immediately spotting the perfect choice. There was a Ghost unit perched on a top of a crate, who waved him over. "Years without anyone, and now in barely a month, we get another visitor. Want to buy something, stranger?" Ghosts had enough rank that he didn't have to feel guilty and predatory, and it wouldn't be out of place to barter with them.

(It didn't hurt that their pink glow reminded him of Larice's new appearance. Maybe it was cruel to a new—if temporary—lover to be thinking of someone else, but... he missed those four. He missed Larice.)

“Yeah, definitely. I was hoping to trade, actually!”

He glanced through their minimal stock, in case Alin and the others had missed something useful on their visit, but no. There was plenty of ship fuel, which was always useful, but the rest was mostly junk.

“Okay, so none of this is really sticking out to me aside from the fuel, but I’d really like to get this stuff off my hands. My ship is way too crowded after I picked up a bunch of souvenirs, and I don’t _need_ this much oil...” They looked confused at a gieeg who spoke verbally instead of through telepathy but rolled with it, too interested in his oil cans to question it. He had to wonder how much they had, and if they were fine or if he was prolonging their starvation.  
  
Was that playing dirty? If he finished traded with them before doing anything saucy, it wouldn’t count as holding that over their head, right? If they turned him down after, they’d still get the oil they needed. Plus they had survived out here for years just fine; the few cans he had wouldn’t be the difference between life and death.

Only after money and supplies changed hands did he start pulling some moves. He hopped up on a crate beside theirs, and they tilted their head, probably expecting him to leave once his business was complete. “So what’s a Starman like you doing out here? You’d think a ship like this would be traveling the stars. There’s a lot to see in this solar system, lot of tourist destinations.”

“Unfortunately, no. We’re all military here, or at least we were.” They gave a contemplative beep. “This ship has been broken down for years. If someone came to repair it, the crew would likely have to return to service, but no one has bothered yet.”

“Ohhh, a military man. Gotta respect that kind of dedication.” Hopefully that came off as ‘ditzy civilian,’ which seemed like a safe enough cover. “What’s your name, big guy?”

They seemed baffled by his interest, but not put off by it. “My informal designation is Vermilion. And you?” He imagined that was a nickname they had given themself once they got the distinctive coloring of a Ghost upgrade; the higher the rank, the more confident Starmen got about giving themselves names and risking the vulnerability of actually using them outside their own thoughts.

“I’m—” He actually hadn’t thought ahead to this part. Maybe he had hoped it’d be some mysterious, completely anonymous tryst? As if that happened anywhere but the movies. He doubted anyone on the Sigismundo would recognize his name, but on the other hand, he didn’t want it to get out on the tiny chance that one of Giegue’s soldiers came through here.

They were still staring down at him, waiting patiently. This shouldn’t be that hard! He had named himself the first time around! This long of a pause had to come off as suspicious. “I’m... Gyiyg.”

“Huh.” They tilted their head at that, more curious than suspicious. “I guess names like that are popular with your kind? Seems a little strange to name people after the species.”

Niiue let out a laugh that hopefully didn’t sound as hysterical as he felt. Out of all the names to come to mind, he had gone with _that_? The pronunciations were barely different. “Yeah, sometimes we’re not that creative at naming things. I can think of at least five people that I met from school who had slightly different variations of that.” Not true, but they were nodding along, so it seemed like he was safe.

As he rambled on, telling them about his supposed jaunt through the solar system, which was mostly a mess of everything Alinivar and the others had told him, he scooted closer to them, closer than what was reasonably platonic. Every few minutes, his tail “accidentally” brushed against their foot. The whole time, he was ready to back off, but they didn’t back away or seem uncomfortable in the least. It seemed okay to proceed.

“I was thinking...” He leaned in, fur brushing against their shoulder. “It’s gotten lonely in this part of the galaxy, even with my crew—great people, sure, but not what I’m looking for. Finding a handsome stranger is a lucky break for me. Wouldn’t mind spending some more time here, if you’ll have me.” Hopefully in a literal sense.

Starmen might not have had the telepathy necessary to project flirtatious intent the way gieegs did it, but they could definitely pick up on what Niiue was sending their way. He didn’t have that much practice at flirting, but he could pull off a decent mix of “I like you/you’re attractive/please touch me.” Hard to misinterpret that sort of combination.

“You’ve traveled the whole solar system, have your pick of countless people, and you settle on an old, nearly defunct Starman? I have doubts about your taste.” Their voice seemed teasing despite the self-deprecation, which was.... a good sign? Maybe?

“You don’t seem defunct to me,” Niiue said, eyes raking over their body, trying to amp up his flirting a notch. “Big strong Starman with a nice color scheme, I could definitely pick a lot worse. But if you’re not interested...?”

Their arm reached around his waist, and Vermilion pulled him in loosely. “I never said that I wasn’t interested, I just wanted to be sure. Let’s... spend some time together, Gyiyg.”

There didn’t seem to be much privacy on the Sigismundo, and the people down the hall were already glancing over, as they led him into a tiny but blessedly empty storage room. Not exactly romantic, since they had to stack some boxes out of the way to make enough room for the two of them, but at least now no one would be watching. They unfurled a spare tarp out onto the floor. “It’s not the most comfortable, but I hope this works for you?” They turned their visor to him, a pair of lights blinking in the center, seeming unsure, and he pushed his flirty aura a little higher.

“Looks great!” He gestured for them to sit. “Now, how about you give me a demonstration of how Starmen tick. Really give me the whole lesson.”

“I would’ve assumed you’d want me to touch you first,” they said quietly, patting the tarp next to them. He sat down, wondering if it was too soon to lean against their arm.

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself if you didn’t, and it’ll be easier to learn about you if I’m not distracted by... you know.” He wasn’t sure the wink really landed the way he had hoped it would, but at least they hadn’t stood and left immediately.

At their gesture, he scooted closer, letting them take his hands and guide them to where they needed to be.

-

The loneliness should have been a fleeting distraction. It was pathetic that Giegue felt it at all—he didn’t have the time for coddling himself when he needed to commune with the Apple and monitor his enemies. But it was rapidly becoming a physical weight on his shoulders, until he had to grip the console in front of him to stay standing. There was only so long he could stay cloistered away; he had a ship to command, however small. Something in him called out for someone else, anyone at all, no matter how badly he wanted it silenced. It left him exhausted.

Even the Starmen, with their fragmented understanding of organic bodily needs, had noticed. Cautiously, so careful not to impose, one of them shifted over to his side, giving a salute he barely glanced back at. “Sir, we’re still on course, so autopilot can hold us for now. You could rest, if you’d like.” A glancing suggestion was far safer than insistence, but he could feel their worry. Worry that his weakness would compromise their goals, no doubt.

But from how flushed and shaky he felt, perhaps they were right. As weak as this must have appeared to the crew, allowing illness to run rampant would seem even more incompetent. On such a small ship, there weren’t dedicated sleeping quarters, merely a single room with two dozen hyberpods. Luckily it was empty when he stormed in. By now, there was one singled out for his use only, marked by the claw marks he had left on the inner walls. Ever since the first night he picked it by chance, no one had touched it since.

For some reason, he fumbled to open the hyberpod, fingers numb against the buttons and locks. It was as if they didn’t belong to him anymore, needles prickling underneath his fur. Another symptom, one that would hopefully pass with sleep, so that none of the crew would see his hands shaking at the monitors. After what seemed like minutes of a struggle, he climbed inside and tried in vain to rest.

-

“Was that good for you? Obviously took some trial-and-error, but...” Niiue flailed his hands, buzzing from a thousand tiny electric shocks. It had been more of a jolt than outright painful, so he didn’t mind, but he had a feeling that was why Starmen usually stuck with each other, instead of experimenting with fully organic people.

It took a second of garbled static before their voice reappeared, limbs twitching underneath him. He had never seen a Starman get off before, and to someone that was used to fixing them, not canoodling with them, it looked more like a terrifying glitch that needed immediate medical attention. He couldn’t settle down until they answered. They put a wavering arm around him, trying to pet down his fur, which had puffed up from static and worry. Worry he had overheated them, or put them off sex forever, or—

“Not bad, for your first time with a Starman. Better than not bad. Pretty damn good, in fact.” Nothing in their tone or aura sounded like a lie, but he wasn’t sure how the Starman equivalent of a first-time handjob could count as amazing. He would have assumed it was okay at best, or adequate. “It’s your turn now, if you haven’t changed your mind. I haven’t spent much time with organics, but I’ll be very careful, so please, help me return the favor.”

-

Sleep evaded Giegue, worse than his usual insomnia. As he laid there, trying to chase rest, something else crept up on him.There was the sensation of someone or something touching him, a rounded surface running down his torso, and another on his tail, though the lid above him was safely shut when he opened his eyes to be sure of it. Heat welled up in him, and he found himself pressing his legs together, though to repel phantom touches or to stimulate himself, he wasn’t sure.

Was he having a dream? Usually he couldn’t remember them, let alone achieving any sort of lucidity. Biting down on his tongue produced a realistic amount of pain and blood, but could he really trust that it meant he was awake? Or perhaps it was some sort of tactile hallucination?

Something was happening to him, and he couldn’t pretend or reason it away. Regardless of the cause, it was happening, and he wasn’t sure how to make it stop.

It was disgusting. _He_ was disgusting, the way he curled up on his side, muffling a shameful noise into his shoulder. The way his tail coiled around him and he for a moment longed to open his legs so he could guide it up between them, to grind against it. The fur at his thighs felt was starting to grow damp, and he had to resist the urge to vomit onto himself.

The nausea should have quieted the feelings growing in him, but it seemed to sharpen them. Those initially timid touches were becoming more bold. It felt as if he was laying against metal rather than cloth padding, surrounded by it, now, as if a Starman had picked him up and restrained him, holding him against their body. One hand briefly raised to stroke at his cheek, and he brought his head back to slam it into the hyberpod twice in quick succession, the padding not enough to protect him from the metal underneath. The pain wasn’t enough to dismiss the feeling entirely, but he tried to sink into it.

(When was the last time someone had touched his face like that, in such a careful way? The abomination had certainly tried but without success. The way they carefully brushed their hand down from his cheek to his mouth... He smashed his head back a third time, beginning to feel dizzy from it.)

Luckily the touch didn’t spread up to his over-sensitive ears, but that tiny relief was overshadowed when it began moving downward again. It smoothed down the fur of his stomach with lingering strokes, and he almost retched, squirming uselessly in an attempt to avoid it. And then, farther down to his thighs and what lay between them, and there was no point in pretending now. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do to keep himself from being violated.

He could feel something pressing against his... his _opening_ , which parted obscenely now, no matter how tightly he squeezed his legs together or let his claws dig deeper into his torso. His imagination helpfully provided a list of objects that could account for the feeling of hard metal seemingly pushing inside him: a bottle, a weapon, an iron bar. The growing pain made it hard to understand what it was, but there was a level of deliberate movement that made it feel like a person. It wasn’t the phantom sensation of someone penetrating him with an object—the way it moved and held him had to point to a Starman, or some other mechanical individual. An Octobot?

Had someone in his crew developed the telepathy necessary to force this hallucination onto him? Greyface didn’t have the skill, and none of his troops had the training for such a feat. Was one of his enemies waiting in a nearby ship and mentally attacking him from a distance? Or maybe it was one of his superiors projecting this across the galaxy to him, though he had no idea what he could have done to deserve this sort of punishment. If there was another explanation, he was too horrified to see it.

It hurt. His insides felt too small, and his involuntary wetness wasn’t enough to ease the stinging inside him. The tentacles inside him started to unspool from between his legs, seeking stimulation too. They drifted through the air, searching out a partner and, when they found nothing, began to entangle with each other. He wanted to tear them free from his body, but even brushing against them sent tremors through him. They _dripped_ , heavy warm droplets falling onto his stomach and legs. He turned his head to the side in time to vomit into the top corner of the hyberpod. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, so it was nothing but water and bile. The smell and nausea did nothing to silence his arousal.

All of it was disgusting. How was his body failing him in so many ways? He had already undergone birth control after joining the military—couldn’t they have removed the whole reproductive system instead? It had to be possible. Cut away the external, sew up the channel inside of him. Condition him to never have a sexual thought. Leave him untouchable. No one would be able to do anything like this ever again.

The touch inside him explored lazily, a slow pace that, in a far kinder situation, might have been enough to render the experience painless. That would have been torturous enough, but its touch soon fell on a spot that he had once discovered touching himself, one that had always driven him to ecstasy without fail in the days before his body became a mere distraction. His body arched, kicking uselessly as he tried to escape the feeling, a moan nearly tearing out of him before he bit down on his hand to silence himself.

He couldn’t imagine someone finding that by chance, let alone lingering there with painful, euphoric strokes... How could they possibly know? For a moment, his thoughts went to the abomination, who would likely know his body as well as he did, but that was absurd. They were too far apart for that to be the cause, weren’t they? He hadn’t felt anything from it since departing Earth, and why would it manifest as a Starman instead of a gieeg?

Perhaps that was further proof that it was a hallucination he had created for himself, rather than an attacker.

His body convulsed, and he had a bright, terrifying moment to wonder if he was having a seizure, before a feeling passed through him, a poisonous heat that spread through every limb. A feeling that became an energy, an energy that became a force that had nowhere to go but out.

As the violating feeling of an orgasm tore into him, both his mental shields and the lid of the hyberpod shattered. He buried his head in his arms as shards of metal and glass plummeted down around him, tearing into the padding, tearing into his exposed body. It was hard to feel anything past the throbbing between his legs, trying to lull him into numb complacency. His mind felt raw, the world rushing in on him, too bright and too loud. The thoughts of everyone in the ship lurked as whispers at the edge of his hearing.

Was it over? After one last lingering touch across his abdomen, the sensations of being touched vanished, but the aftereffects lingered. Even now, his external genitalia were still exposed, though they should have retracted by now, limp against his thighs. It was done, culminating in that repulsive puddle soaking in underneath him, so why were they still present? Touching them directly was too disgusting, so he sunk his claws into his leg instead. His body was slow to give up its arousal in favor of pain, and he was bleeding sluggishly from both thighs before the facade of his modesty had returned. All the rotten, useless parts of him were safely tucked away again, and the blood concealed the release soaking into his fur.

He sat up, trying to pull himself up with the now open edge and gashing his hand on a jagged piece of metal. An alarm had begun to blare above him, and he struggled to climb out—he had to salvage this situation and minimize the weakness his crew saw. If Giegue stood tall in front of them despite his injuries and said... what? Claiming it as an assassination attempt was so tempting, but he couldn’t waste time and resources on a lie.

He would say it was a hyberpod malfunction, and nothing more. He couldn’t be blamed for that. He scooted out of the shell of the hyberpod and onto shaking legs, a moment before the majority of the small crew crowded into the room. From how they all had weapons drawn, they must have expected some sort of attack. He could distantly hear the rest of them searching the ship.

“Commander! We heard an explosion—” The Starman in front, the one who had initially suggested that he rest, reached his hand out, looking strangely helpless. No one to shoot or capture, only the travesty that Giegue had become. “What _happened_?”

-

“Are you alright?” He slumped off Vermilion’s lap, his legs still wobbly but feeling like that was a piece of real estate he didn’t have a claim to. It didn’t seem right to have post-sex cuddling when they hadn’t had at least a date or two, and he doubted he’d have time in between saving the universe. And doubted they’d be interested in a date, and honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted a date with them or anyone else.

Well, that and he couldn’t assume they would _want_ to date some random gieeg they had had a one night stand with. Kinda presumptuous of him to make a bigger deal out of it than it was, right?

“Huh? Yeah, I’m great. Kinda just got off and all, kudos to you. Can’t get much better than that.” It did sting a lot in the nether regions, but he didn’t have any experience with someone else, so it seemed like something to acclimate to, not anything that was their fault.

They fumbled around in a crate to hand him a rag that wasn’t covered in grease and dust, and he scrubbed at the thin fur on his legs. It would already be enough of a walk of shame as it was, didn’t need to come back to the ship still covered in fluids too. Luckily all his naughty bits had retracted, so he didn’t have to worry about flashing everyone on the way back to the ship.

He knelt back down, intending to clean _them_ up—jizz stood out a lot more on black metal than white fur—when they caught his hand, bringing him to a halt. “You’re crying.”

No. No, that couldn’t be right, and he had to raise a hand to his face to feel how soaked his fur was before he could believe it. Yes, it had been both painful and fulfilling, and _yes,_ he was already thinking about how it would feel to miss this Starman once he left. But that wasn’t enough to cry, or to prompt the empty void opening up in his chest. This feeling wasn’t his.

It was Giegue’s.

He scrambled for the door, not sure what the plan was except to escape the situation. How could he sense Giegue from this distance? He had come to accept that, when they were this far apart, their bond wasn’t strong enough to pass anything between them, even without Giegue actively blocking him. Why were his carefully constructed defenses low enough for Niiue to feel this? Had... had Giegue felt...

With Vermilion calling behind him, asking if he was alright, he burst onto the main deck. By now he didn’t care that anyone could see him like this. With such a small ship, other Starman must have seen them go into that storage room, must have heard their noises, and it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, except what he had done to Giegue.

He had taken a few steps out, heads turning towards him, when the pain hit, and his legs went out from under him. For a moment, his vision blacked out. When it returned, he almost expected to see himself dripping with blood. Had someone started _beating_ Giegue, right at the same time Niiue had been getting busy?

No, that was too absurd of a coincidence. Even if he somehow couldn’t defend himself, which was unlikely, he was surrounded by people who would throw themselves away to protect him. And of all the borrowed pain scattered across his body, the worst was on his inner thighs. Between that and the feeling of secondhand revulsion that had been rising in him, it added up to something terrible that was entirely his fault.

They had caught up with him, kneeling at his side. It really was too nice of them; by following him, they were confirming whatever gossip had been circulating the ship since he arrived. Those whispers didn’t sound malicious, but still, he had really muddled up their life, hadn’t he? And his own, and Giegue’s, because he was too pathetic to deal with his own longings.

This had been a mistake.

“Can you stand? I’d carry you to your ship, but...” That pause must have been them looking up at the ladder, wondering about the logistics of climbing up with a gieeg in their arms. And he wanted that, more than anything. Wanted to share that feeling of being held with Giegue. But that would only make things worse, wouldn’t it? He would hate that.

“I’m fine,” Niiue choked out. “Promise. This isn’t your fault or anything, I have... A condition? Honestly, I’ll be up in a minute, you can go inside if you want.”

They gave him an incredibly flat look, for someone without a mouth or eyes. “That’d be incredibly rude of me, don’t you think?” They asked, slinging an arm around him and trying to help him to his feet.

-

His legs weren’t stable for long, and he sank to the floor, mortified as Starmen clustered around him, one of them reaching out with a readied Lifeup. More than mortified, as he swallowed down a second round of nausea and forced himself to stay motionless.

But one of them crossed the room, seemingly intent on examining the broken hyberpod. From the bile, blood, and... other fluids that he had left behind, it would be obvious that something far different had occurred. For the sake of his dwindling reputation, he called on his PSI.

The Starman jolted backwards as the inside of the hyberpod caught fire, threatening to spill out in mere seconds. He hurried to extinguish it, but by then, any evidence was likely too charred to recognize. “As you can see, this level of malfunction is unacceptable and a risk to all personnel. Please inform maintenance that all units need servicing.” Although he spoke telepathically, his mental voice was as hoarse and quiet as it would have been verbally.

He didn’t have any option other than to let his soldier heal him; even if he had the ability himself, he wasn’t sure he could have mustered the will to restore such a traitorous, disgusting body. Refusing to be healed wasn’t an option—wandering around with that level of injury was asking to be harmed further—but it was all he had to stay still and allow it. The Starman was keeping a respectful distance, not needing to touch Giegue to close those wounds, but after what had happened, that close proximity was nearly too much to bear. It would be unreasonable to decommission a clearly loyal soldier for helping him, but he could barely contain his revulsion.

Mindful of their gazes on him, he did his best not to squeeze his legs together, feeling a second wave of heat flowing through him. Was he projecting anything untoward? He fumbled for the shields that had broken in his distraction, pulling them around him in what would hopefully be an impenetrable psychic wall. He didn’t want to know what they thought of him in this moment.

It wasn’t enough to protect himself from what was still churning inside of him, repulsive mental images of what would happen if he did spread his legs and project for the whole room to know. What would happen if their careful, respectful behavior faltered, and... and...

There was the tiniest squirm of movement inside him, an unwanted encore, and he bit down on his tongue, managing to gouge himself and flood his mouth with blood before their Lifeup whisked the damage away. As he shakily pulled himself to his feet, ignoring their offered hands, there was nothing to give his internal turmoil away.

“Aside from maintenance, all of you are dismissed,” Giegue said, taking a limping step forward. For a moment, it didn’t seem like they would let him through, but the Starmen backed away, leaving a clear path. “I’ll be... in my office. Do not disturb me.” Somewhere with a locking door and a sink to clean away the blood. Hopefully he’d be safe there.

He wondered what the Apple of Enlightenment would have to say about this.

-

With their arm around his waist, Vermilion helped him limp over to the waiting ladder. He felt kind of ridiculous at how that little touch alone got him worked up again, but he shoved the feeling down. “If you’re in this part of the galaxy again, you could drop by. I’ll probably still be around. If...if this hasn’t soured you to spending time here.” Even after all that fuss, they _wanted_ to see him again?

He didn’t know how to reply. If he did this again, it would only hurt Giegue again. He couldn’t force his other half to go through that again. And what would happen to him, once he had stopped Giegue? The future was too foggy to know if he could ever come back to the Sigismundo in a more platonic way.

But that was way more honesty than he could afford to give, and he wanted to leave on a neutral note, if not a positive one. “If I’m in the area again, I’ll look you up.” Luckily they didn’t ask for his ship’s frequency, and he didn’t offer it.

Vermilion stood at the bottom as he climbed it at a glacial pace, as if they were ready to catch him if he fell. He didn’t feel steady enough to wave to them until he had heaved himself into the open hatch, hand flopping out as he laid on the floor beside it. After a moment, they raised an arm and waved back, still standing there as he closed the hatch.

Everyone in the ship stared at him as he rolled and flopped his way over to his pile of clothing, feeling too drained to walk there. Had anyone noticed him falling on the deck of the Sigismundo? He hoped not, because their lack of concern would be pretty messed up. “It went that well?” Elmadan asked, as he struggled back into his shirt and pants. He was starting to feel way too vulnerable without them on. “No, seriously, you look awful. Are you okay?”

He had to be okay, because he was the Commander, because he had to guide the ship, because the prophetic heroes were gone, and who knew how long it would take to get them back? They needed him to straighten up and grin and reassure them until those four returned. He had to make them _believe_ that those four would return.

And he would, eventually, but right now he could feel nonexistent blood running down his thighs, and his head pounded like Giegue had slammed his own into a wall, and those moments of being held didn’t seem like they had been worth it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Got some extra fuel, but we’ve pretty much cleaned them out at this point.” His voice must have sounded normal enough that no one commented, outside of Boson’s snickering.

Malik snorted at him as he wobbled over to a hyberpod, but he was too tired to respond to it. They thought he was plenty weird already, so why bother trying to glue together his fragmented reputation? Who really cared if they saw him stumbling around and thought it was because he had gotten well fucked and not because he felt like he had a secondhand concussion? Better to spend his time and focus actually recovering.

Once the lid was down, his expression crumbled. Could Lifeup do anything if he didn’t have any actual injuries? It might be a waste of time, but he would get his psychic energy back anyway, so he was going to try.

It was bright enough to see through his closed eyelids, the geometric patterns of Lifeup Gamma covering the walls around him. Niiue tried to direct the energy to Giegue, wherever he was. If their bond was reopened, even temporarily, he might get some relief from it? It was too far away to actually heal his wounds, but if it eased the pain, it would be worth it.

Hopefully someone was already by Giegue’s side, healing him for real, but this was the only thing Niiue could think of that might help. Gie would reject any emotions or thoughts Niiue tried to send, if they could reach that far, but this was concrete. It was the only apology he could give.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to have his own pain eased, but that was the only thing he got out of the waves of Lifeup. The first round of it almost seemed to reach Giegue, but his further attempts disappeared into the void. The intensity of the moment had apparently faded, and their bond was drowned out again by the distance between them.

At least that meant that, when he squirmed onto his side and pulled his arms around himself tightly, he wouldn’t be inflicting it on Giegue too.

**Author's Note:**

> This very unhappy fic took a lot longer to write than I expected, with a lot more words than I planned, and I'm still a little frustrated with it. I hope things came across well?
> 
> Kinda want to emphasize that Niiue definitely didn't know that would happen and didn't intend to force that experience on Giegue.
> 
> ヽ（・＿・；)ノ Maybe a bit too gruesome and I need to do some fluff next time?


End file.
